As Yet Unsung
by Gingham
Summary: He was worth a great deal, she thought. For months he had been like a long saved up piece of pocket money, hers when she wanted it, yet too special to be squandered on just one night. But he had been burning a hole in her pocket for too long.


_As Yet Unsung_

A short fic inspired by the way Phryne and Jack jump slightly guiltily when Collins enters Jack's office in episode 3x02 _Death and the Maiden_

It probably wasn't his intention (after that much martini, whiskey and nerve tonic who knew what his intentions were) but in his rather comical iteration of the men he knew had shared her bed, Jack Robinson had revealed two things.

Firstly, that he noticed. This wasn't entirely surprising. Jack strove to be a closed book but his irritation when the gorgeous Lin Chung appeared on the scene, or when Warwick Hamilton had accused her of not respecting the "sanctity of the boudoir" had been plain to see. It was interesting though, to hear him list them, that exotic menu of men who had delighted her in one way or another over the course of their relationship. Nameless to him, but important enough to be logged and catalogued. As what? Obstacles? Distractions? But not, she noted, as mistakes.

Which led her to the second revelation. He didn't judge her. There may have been a touch of malice in his outburst about "men who wear damned cravats", but she suspected there she had disappointed him more with her taste than her morals. Somehow, though he had gotten horribly drunk in her house, angrily listed her lovers and flat out referred to them as a "constant parade" before collapsing on her parlour floor, he had managed to do it all without causing offence. Because though he had told her in no uncertain terms that he would not be one of them – and though he was drunk, she believed him – he did it whilst maintaining an air of due deference to her lifestyle. He politely (if slightly incoherently) pointed to the place where their principles diverged, expressing that as much as he respected her adherence to her own way of life, he was prepared to stretch his own liberal mind so far and no further.

Phryne considered these revelations as she supervised her father and Mr Butler hauling an unconscious Jack upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. He had changed a great deal in the months she had known him, she thought. In the first months of their acquaintance, he had been almost scared of her, retreating from her flirtatious advances and carrying his worn out marriage like a shield between them, his only defence against the certain disaster of falling for her.

But Phryne knew men, and she knew her effect on men. Fallen for her he had, but that wasn't the only thing that had changed. His understanding of love had broadened. Marriage hadn't been what he expected, she knew that. But along with that hurt had come an opening of the mind, a more _avant garde_ approach to the passions in life. He'd come a long way from the cadet who had been terrified by his experience of raiding a Chinese brothel. Once upon a time, a man like Jack might have been irreparably hurt by the nocturnal adventures of Miss Fisher. But now he knew enough of her, knew enough of the world to simply raise a sardonic eyebrow to that part of her life, and as they got closer, to salute it and say, _respectfully, I will not go there._

What was more surprising was how he hadn't changed. That sense of honour, that need to do the right thing that had remained intact through the war, through his divorce and through the pain of arresting his greatest role model for a heinous crime. Jack had carried some terrible loads on his shoulders, but had never weakened under the strain. Phryne had only seen him give up once: that terrible aftermath of the Gertie Haynes case, when he had thought she'd died and had cut her out of his life. But even that had taken a certain type of strength, as did, she supposed, letting her back in.

He was worth a great deal, she thought. For months he had been like a long saved up piece of pocket money, hers when she wanted it, yet too special to be squandered on just one night. But he had been burning a hole in her pocket for too long.

Their investigations continued. His appearance was something of a surprise. She didn't expect Jack to come wandering in just as she was meeting with the rather gorgeous Group Commander of the RAAF base. Compton was one of the most impressive members of her extensive back catalogue, for one special reason; he had saved her life. Their time together had been short, sweet and extraordinarily intense, taking place as it did after a crash landing in Madagascar that they were both lucky to survive.

She also didn't expect herself to leave as she did, running after Jack in a manner that had she been watching herself, would have disappointed her greatly. His cold "You'll find me at the morgue, Miss Fisher," hadn't really been a summons, and yet she found herself making hurried excuses to Compton and rushing out after the Detective Inspector, telling him she couldn't resist a murder. It wasn't all she couldn't resist. She knew there would be a conversation in the offing, he had seen his eyes grow sharp as she had described that Compton and she were old friends. She knew that mentally, he would be adding his name to that "constant parade", and wondering how much of a danger this "old" friend was.

Like so many of their conversations, this one happened across a dead body. Mac listened on with barely concealed amusement as Jack probed her about her "old friend" and the missions they had flown together. Phryne half considered down playing their relationship, but at the last second decided against it. After all, she had never been anything other than honest with him, and he had never shown himself to be unworthy of that trust.

"You know what it's like when you think life is fleeting and you might die at any moment!"

"I always feel like that when I'm with you," quipped Mac in the background.

Phryne had been annoyed. Her point had been a serious one: wasn't life always like that? What further prompting did Jack need? If he was so scared about one of her parade becoming serious, why on earth didn't he do it first?

Maybe this would spur him on.

If she thought about it, didn't she seem to be sticking much closer to him in this investigation than usual? He might even have noticed it himself _("Why aren't you at the RAAF, wing walking or something?")_ Back in his office she tried to probe his feelings about Compton further.

"You and Compton are very similar Jack, I think you might like him."

She studied him closely for any hint of dissemblance.

He fixed her with an open gaze, his lips curling slightly in amusement. "I don't think one necessarily follows the other."

She was temporarily disarmed by such an open response. Her heart skipped lightly. There had been a few of these moments recently, when she could have been forgiven for thinking they were edging somewhere important.

She rewarded him with a smile. "Alright. Full points for that," she murmured. Pulling a piece of a letter from her blouse, she fixed him with a seductive look, daring him to keep his mind on the case.

She saw him swallow as he forced his mind on the evidence. "A match for the love letter," he said triumphantly.

"Very good."

Holding her gaze, Jack opened a desk drawer, pulled out a magnifier and set it in front of him. She was about to pass it over, but with a jerk of his head, he indicated that she should come round his side of the desk. She had noticed this recently, a sometimes more forceful manner that he adopted with her from time to time. She rather liked it.

She sashayed round the desk and placed the scrap of envelope in front of him. He picked it up and examined it, before replacing it on the desk.

"Postmark doesn't tell us anything," he murmured. She noticed he had removed his right hand from the desk, allowing her to get closer. She did so, moving up against his body.

"May I?" she asked innocently, pointing at the magnifying glass.

"Be my guest," he replied, in a deep voice that made her insides tremble slightly. She picked up the instrument and studied the scrap, bending over slightly as she scrutinised it.

"Rather smudged," she commented.

"Mmm." Jack leaned in closer.

"It looks like perfectly ordinary…stationary.."

A brush against her lower leg had given her pause. For a moment, she thought her coat was hanging a thread, or that she was imagining it. But even as she convinced herself that this must be the case, she felt fingers glide over her sheer stockings, caressing the roundest part of her calf with a feather light touch.

She stole a look at Jack, who was still nonchalantly considering the evidence, a small smile playing on his lips.

Her surprise was quickly joined by delight. How unexpected! She had always thought that anything that happened between them would take place in the privacy of her bedroom, or if they didn't make it that far, her parlour. Jack was a man who took his work seriously, she had always imagined that his office would be shrouded in a type of sanctity; a room reserved for the pursuit of justice, not pleasure. And now, here he was, pretending to study evidence while all the time, his hand was moving further up towards her knee…

It was certainly unexpected. It was also absurdly erotic! Phryne had to stop herself shivering in anticipation; the backs of her knees were a particularly sensitive spot. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to control herself when his probing fingers reached that area. But she was keen to find out.

Her mind struggled to find something else to say about the envelope, to prolong the moment, to make sure his hand stayed on course.

She opened her mouth, but a sudden knock on the door made them both jump, Jack's hand flying off her calf and hovering behind his own chair.

They looked up innocently as Collins entered the office.

"Here's the cast of that boot print, Sir. It's a big one."

Phryne forced herself to snap back into detective mode, hastily assessing this new evidence and what it meant. Jack seemed to be doing the same, ordering Collins to bring the car around.

When Collins left, he rose from his chair, causing her to stumble backwards slightly. Her legs were slightly shaky. He noticed, and couldn't quite hide a smirk as he grabbed his hat coat.

"Shall we, Miss Fisher?" He gestured out of the door.

She grit her teeth and she swept out of the office. Most assuredly, she had lost the upper hand. And she liked the upper hand.

Within the hour, she had seized the chance to exact her revenge coquettishly, referring to Jack as her fiancé and pressing down on his knee to effect a swift entrance to the RAAF base. As Jack parked up, she concealed a grin at his clenched jaw. He may have rendered her speechless, but it was only a temporary state. A further opportunity came when she had to gain access to a little roofless office within the larger structure of the hanger. Of course, she could have picked the lock, but wasn't it more fun to use Jack as a ladder, forcing every part of her into screamingly close proximity with his face and making quips about her assets while doing so?

It was all fun and games until Compton showed up again. From the moment he accosted them with a curt "You two. With me," Phryne could tell Jack's hackles were on the rise. She observed them squabbling pettily about respective areas of authority until she herself felt like the spoils. Her mood wasn't improved when Jack again jerked his head at her, indicating that she should follow him out. She had found that move oddly tender and attractive in the privacy of her office, but in front of Compton she found that it seemed to imply ownership, a tie that she instinctively wanted to strain against. If it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't want to show him up in front of his rival, she probably wouldn't have gone to follow him out at all.

As it was Compton called her back, and Phryne acquiesced, noting without triumph the look of hurt that crossed Jack's face. As Compton started to explain further details of the case, she began to get drawn in, realising that she could get far more out of the RAAF without Jack's presence. After all, it was for the good of the case. Jack would understand.

But when she returned to City South that afternoon, Jack was in a foul mood, raging against Compton and his obstruction of his investigation. Reasonably, Phryne pointed out the need for discretion, but this only seemed to anger Jack more.

"You seem determined to make this a personal matter!" Phryne snapped.

"And you seem determined to make it a military one!" Jack shot back. "I don't understand why you need to dance to his tune!"

Phryne reeled, stung. If Collins hadn't entered at that point, God knows what she might have said. After following him around all day, after letting him order around in front of Compton and not to mention what had happened in this very office just hours earlier, he was accusing her of acquiescing to someone else's demands? She was outraged. Did he really think that a few moments of surreptitiously squeezing her calf gave him the right to tell her what she could and couldn't do? Was that really his feeble attempt to stake his claim to her?

She was glad that the message was from Compton, glad that she could go to him. At least he never tried to order her around; their liaison had been based on a shared understanding, a love of adventure and intrigue that left no room for everyday banality, no time for navigating the shifting sands of a relationship. He was a breath of fresh air; he was exactly what she needed.

She had needed him, and she took him. It was a whirl of passionate shared remembrances, and free, easy affection. It cleared her head, and as they lay under the plane basking in the aftermath, she thought she was incredibly lucky to know Group Commander Compton.

As the heady reverberations subsided though, she realised there was something else. An itch that had started in Jack's office with a feather light touch. She would have thought this activity would have well and truly scratched it. But as she sat up, wrapping Compton's coat around her, she realised that it pricked away at her, as strong as ever.

"Are you alright?" Compton asked from his position on the ground.

She nodded, fighting back the realisation that only one person could scratch that itch, and to make things worse, she wasn't even angry with him anymore.

Suddenly, a commotion of noise and activity invaded her thoughts.

"Don't shoot!" She heard the yelled plea carry in from the grounds. She could have sworn it was Collins. They rushed out, headlong into a stand-off with City South's finest and the RAAF.

This time, Jack won, and in a stupid way her heart filled with pride. But as he climbed through the wire fence, he stopped and looked down at her feet, noting her lack of shoes and stockings. She was used to his raised eyebrows in reference to her antics, but this time was worse. It wasn't that she'd betrayed him. It was that she had taken sides.

As she watched him storm back to the car, she vowed she would not follow him out again, that in front of Compton and all these pilots, she would retain what dignity she had left. But before she could stop herself, she had called out his name and had crawled inelegantly through the fence to reach him.

"We were just reminiscing!"

Luckily, she was soon able to fix on a piece of evidence that distracted them all from the fact that she was wearing only a trench coat. Well, she doubt it distracted Jack, but he was at least able to pretend that he was concentrating on the case. But later on, as she and Dot scoured books for the da Vinci quote, she wondered why she had felt the need to tell Jack (and every other man on the base) that she was just reliving old times.

It was because Compton was one of her _back_ catalogue, she realised. In her parade, he had long since passed her by. A fact that was confirmed when it was revealed that he had actually ordered the dead woman to carry out the investigation that led to her death. Compton was incredibly brave, and daring and thoroughly exciting. But that sense of honour, that need to do the right thing? He didn't have it. In fact, if a spectator was to look at Phryne's parade now (in fact if they had been watching for months) they would see not so much a parade but one man walking up and down the street.

And that man, that honourable but surprising man, had stood in her parlour trying desperately to understand what Compton had meant to her. That's the sort of man he was. He could even grudgingly admit that he was grateful to the heroes in her life, the ones who had kept her alive.

"To heroes," he toasted.

Her heart was suddenly full of love for him. His capacity for understanding was beyond words. To change for her, and yet not change at all.

He had to know his importance to her.

"And to the one as yet unsung hero," she murmured. "Who has saved me over and over again."

She really must sing him soon.


End file.
